


Putting the Squeeze on Him (prompt 150, BBC, Sherlock/Molly)

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Edging, F/M, Fingering, Masturbation, Sherlolly - Freeform, thigh squeeze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sherlock discovers that Molly can bring herself to orgasm with crossed legs or thigh squeezing. He enjoys watching her do this in various places. Sometimes she gets off, sometimes he wants her to just tease along the edge until they get home and he can finish the job.





	

The first time she did it in his presence he was convinced he’d been mistaken. Yes, the couple on the screen was attractive, the soundtrack evocative, the glimpses of buttocks and breasts titillating. But surely not. Molly was fully clothed, after all, and sitting chastely, feet on the coffee table and legs crossed at the ankle. He’d have thought the wiggling foot was simply an absentminded habit, if not for the slightest hitch in her breathing and sudden far-away look in her eyes. They finished their movie night with some heated kisses before he put her in a cab and sent her home. No sooner had he locked the door behind him than he had his laptop. A quick search, and he knew it was possible; but was that what he’d actually seen? 

 

It didn’t happen again until they’d been having sex for a few weeks and he came down with a heavy head cold. Molly brought over soup, tissues, lozenges, and a selection of rom-coms and dramas. Arranging it so they were on opposite ends of the sofa -’you don’t want to catch this, stay over there’- he was able to keep her in view during the steamy train sex sequence. Sure enough, if he looked closely enough, he could see the subtle clench and release of Molly’s lovely thighs, encased in soft cotton leggings beneath an oversized shirt. Her lips parted and her pink tongue flickered out, in, out. And there, where the top had pulled tight against her breast, one nipple slowly hardened into a perfect nub of arousal. Sherlock stared, watching her thighs squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until a subtle tension vibrated through her. Soon after that she picked up her glass from the coffee table and took several swallows, the muscles in her throat working through each gulp. 

It was true. Molly Hooper knew how to get off while fully dressed, without making a sound or a scene. It was, he decided, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and he wanted to see more of it. A lot more. Could she do it in public, he wondered? Would she, if she knew he was watching? First off was to find some way to let her know he enjoyed it. 

 

As soon as he’d recovered, he thought. He’d place one hand on her flexing thighs, squeeze along with her, cup one hand over her breast and tease her with his thumb. Or maybe he’d palm himself while she watched and worked her magic until they both came, neither touching the other while they gasped their mutual pleasure. This last he dismissed as unrealistic; as lovely as the idea was, they’d never managed to have simultaneous orgasms. In the end, the moment arrived when they were in bed together. He sat against the headboard and pulled Molly against him, her back to his chest and his chin hooked over her shoulder. From this position he could watch himself cradle her small breasts in his palms, could watch the nipples peak and pearl in response to his circling thumbs. And he could murmur instructions in her ear. Already her hand was drifting down her legs, anticipating his command that she finger her clit. “No,” he told her. “Hands behind my head.” 

She sighed, and arched, and obediently threaded her fingers together at the back of his neck. 

“Now, cross your ankles. I want you to do the thing with your thighs. Get yourself off Molly, while I don’t have to pretend I’m not watching you.” He punctuated his demand with a twirl of his fingers and she gasped beneath him.

“You beast. You. You watched?” She tried to flip over but Sherlock tightened his arms and lowered his head to blow warm breath over her breast. 

“I did. And then, after you’d gone home, I went to bed and wanked. I thought about you, Molly, and how damp you must have been, and I wanked until I came. I came so hard, and I fell asleep, and when I woke up I did it again.” He traced the outside of her ear with his tongue. “I want to see it again. I want to watch you bringing yourself off.” 

She trembled against him, whimpering, but crossed her ankles and began pulling her legs taut. Her buttocks brushed against him, stroking his erection, but that pleasure was secondary to watching the flush that ran up her chest, seeing the long muscles flexing and releasing. There was a lovely, smooth rhythm to her movements, one that he thought ought to have a song composed to it. A song he’d play only for her. He let go of her breasts and slid his hands down, resting them on her thighs to feel the pulse of her pleasure. She gasped when he pressed into the squeeze, shivered when he delicately picked up the pace and began driving her. Working her while she worked herself; a heady feeling. 

“It goes quickly, this way,” Molly warned him. Her head tipped back to rest on his chest and he pressed a kiss to her temple. He knew she was coming when her breathing began to stutter. Not the earth-shattering orgasm of a bad porno, nor the gasping and moaning he wrung from her with his mouth and fingers, but a definite peak. No sooner had she relaxed in his hold than she started flexing again, more slowly this time. 

“Again?” She’d only ever had one when he’d watched before. 

She turned her head and grinned wickedly. “Here’s the thing about mini-orgasms: I can do this for ages. One right after the other.” 

Sherlock’s eyes were wide, pools of silver in his flushed face. “That’s quite a skill.”

“Isn’t it...ah...just.” 

He held out as long as he could, watching her twitch and shiver and come and come and come. When he finally flipped her and guided her down onto his aching prick she was nearly glowing, taking him in and riding with abandon. Mini-orgasms had left her primed, it seemed, and this time when she came it was with his name on her lips and his spend filling her already dripping flesh. 

 

What he hadn’t expected was how much she enjoyed him watching. He learned to recognize the signs; a certain look in her eyes, the faintest flush staining her cheeks. Tickets to a concert? She sat beside him, legs crossed and twitching ever so slightly. He couldn’t look away. She kept her attention on the stage until the last moment, when she turned and met his eyes, letting her mouth open in a blissful smile. Then she turned back and primly folded her hands into her lap. He swallowed and directed his attention back to the soloist, willing himself calm and hoping to focus now that she’d apparently gotten it out of her system.

After the interval she did it again, holding his hand on the armrests. He traced his thumb over her wrist, slow sweeps to match the rhythm she’d set. She cast a sideways glance at him, and licked her lips, dared a tiny wiggle against the plush cushion. His prick began to fill, heavy between his legs, and he wondered if he dared adjust himself.

Instead he lifted her hand to his lips and flicked it with his tongue under the guise of a kiss. She bit her lip and uncrossed her legs. 

It took the rest of the movement for his prick to relax. 

 

He thought maybe his favorite time was when they went for lunch with John and Greg. He’d murmured a challenge to her on the way there. “I wonder if you can do it without letting yourself come? Drive yourself closer and closer but never...quite...finish.” 

“Why would I want to do that?” 

“I’d make it worthwhile later.” 

“Oh? Well, I guess that remains to be seen.” She winked, and led the way to a high-top table, where she sat slightly sideways so her legs weren’t hidden under the table. She crossed one leg over the other, carefully adjusted her skirt, and answered politely asked Greg about work, John about Rosie, while her foot began to twitch. Sherlock was stunned. She was so exposed. Anyone with the least bit of knowledge could look over here and know what she was up to. John and Greg seemed oblivious, but what about the accountant at the next table? Was his whole attention on the spreadsheet before him? There, he’d glanced over, clearly seen what Molly was up to. But, no. She’d stopped. Everyone was looking at him; had someone asked a question?

“I’m sorry...my attention wandered.”

Molly swung her foot a couple of times. “Really?”

He closed his mouth, opened it, finally dredged up some semblance of an explanation. “Thought I recognized someone.” 

Greg repeated his question, asking about the last private case Sherlock had worked and if he thought it had any bearing on some things NSY was investigating. 

“Possible, I suppose, but…” 

Molly uncrossed her legs, switched them around, and resumed her conversation with John. She never even glanced at Sherlock, just sipped her water and pressed, released, pressed, released. 

“What was I saying?” 

“You were telling me why I’m a moron for thinking your case might match up with mine.” 

“Oh. Oh! Yes, well,” and he was off, giving Greg far more detail than the man could possibly be useful while Molly smiled at John, nibbled on chips, and squeezed, and squeezed, and stopped, and squeezed some more. 

By the time they finished their meal, Sherlock had counted ten edges, and thought he might have missed a couple more. He climbed awkwardly into the cab, gave the address, and turned to stare out the window. What had he been thinking? This was the worst idea...but he hadn’t been sure she’d take up the challenge. She was squeezing again. He could tell, not because he was looking at her but because of the light panting coming from the seat beside him. Which was solely for his benefit; she’d not made a sound at the concert hall. She caught his glance in her direction and pursed her lips, throwing a kiss in his direction and grinding down onto the seat. 

“Almost home,” she whispered, dragging out the ‘mmmm’ sound and holding very still.

His hand shook when he pulled out his wallet, and he had to start over twice when counting the bills for their fare, but he was ready as soon as the cab pulled to a stop outside 221. Molly unlocked the door while he paid, and then he was dashing across the pavement and crowding her into the vestibule with every intention of getting her skirt around up around her hips, and her legs around his waist.

Mrs Hudson was hoovering the hallway. “Oh!” She switched off the machine and frowned at them. “Sherlock, I do wish you wouldn’t slam the door…” 

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson, must dash. Experiment...results coming...coming due.” He took Molly by the wrist and all but dragged her up the stairs.

“I don’t think she was fooled.” Molly was giggling breathlessly, the flush on her neck and face telling anyone who cared to look exactly what was about to happen. “Don’t slam the door now, dear.” 

He growled, actually growled low in his throat as he gently pushed the door closed and turned the lock. “If you don’t want to do this clothed, you’ve got about thirty seconds to get undressed.” 

She wet her lips when his hand went to the buckle on his belt. Her fingers worked buttons through holes, unzipped the skirt, hooked in the waistband and pulled it down along with her panties. The plain white bra was framed by her turquoise blouse, and she thrust her breasts toward him provocatively. “Hurry,” she demanded.

His eyes were nearly feral when he stepped out of his trousers and lunged forward to kneel between her feet. He hitched one leg over his shoulder, waited while she found a hand-hold on the entry table and caught her balance, then pressed his face into her neatly trimmed pussy. “Molly,” he said, her name a prayer and benediction as he breathed hot and humid against her mound. “Brace yourself,” he warned, and plunged forward. One hand parted her folds, wet with arousal from so many near-misses, and his thumb teased in slow circles around her clit. 

“Sherlock. I won’t last.” Her warning ended on a gasp when he sampled the moisture with his tongue and set to work. 

He moaned encouragingly when her hips started to shudder and flicked her swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh! Sher...I’ll...I…in me...please.” She couldn’t release her grip on the table, or the arm bracing her against the wall, but the aching hollow inside her demanded his touch. When he thrust two fingers into her, crooking them rhythmically while he licked over the throbbing nub, she arched with a shout and clenched around him. The world was this, just this, Sherlock playing her body and holding her up while she came and came. He knew the moment she’d begun to come back down and held her carefully until she could pull her leg down from his shoulder. 

He held here there, face pressed into the crease of her thigh, breathing in the musky smell of her, savoring the taste of her body on his tongue. 

“Now you,” she panted, and slid down the wall to wrap her fingers around his straining cock. Two quick slides, root to tip, and he had to grasp her wrist firmly to stop himself coming right there. That wasn’t what he needed, after watching her make such a silent spectacle of herself. Instead, he grabbed her knees and tugged her to the floor, watching her eyes for any hesitation or fear. There was nothing other than hot desire, but he arched a questioning brow anyway. This was going to be fast, and hard, and he needed to know she was willing. Her eyes were so deep, so dark, and she nodded. “Yes, please. Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” 

She was babbling, and wasn’t that the best sound: Molly Hooper, sobbing his name as she consented to being taken. 

He pulled her legs open, settled between them, and thrust home. 

“God, Molly. So good. You absolute...oh...you...tease. Watching you do that...for me, just for me, Molly my Molly.” His hips snapped, Molly wrapped her arms around his back and drew him deeper. 

He shouted her name, drove himself forward in a furious rush, and filled her with his come. She quivered around him, surprised into a second orgasm by the sound of his groans, and went utterly limp. He caught himself on one hand, easing out of her calming body and rolling to the side. 

They lay there, panting, for several long moments, before he sat up and carefully helped her the rest of the way out of her blouse. “You’re amazing,” he said, and pulled her into a warm hug. 

She snuggled in, and said, “Take me to bed, Sherlock. I’m done in. But do be sure to mention any other...experiments...you might want to try. I’ll be sure to remember them next time you’re bored.”


End file.
